


Hijo de la Luna

by Belsmomaus



Series: Hijo de la Luna [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bodhi is not a delicate flower, Cassian Andor-centric, Cassian needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, Loneliness, M/M, mystical elements, soulmates of sorts (somehow?), they both deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10038545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belsmomaus/pseuds/Belsmomaus
Summary: There is a legend on Fest. A fairytale. A story told all over the planet.The story of the son of the moon, thehijo de la luna.Of course it’s all just a story.But Cassian Andor knows that it’s more than that.For it is him.HE is thehijo de la luna.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happens when I think about Cassian while "Hijo de la luna" from Loona plays on the radio. This happens when I talk to my dear friend PadBlack and learn that I'm not the only one with that combination stuck in their head.  
> Okay, I'm being honest, it began with me imagining that song sung by Diego Luna (I like his singing voice and I certainly love that song!).  
> Then it all took a strange turn und I ended up with this here.
> 
> Feel free to delve right into the strange workings of my mind ;)
> 
> Now with fanart from Mail_Jeevas_Keehl :D (you'll find the link at the end of chapter 2)
> 
> (The story is finished, so you'll get the second chapter in a few days after a last round of editing!)
> 
> Thank you to PadBlack! Not just for unknowingly making me even more fixated on that song, but for pointing out some flaws and problem so I could - hopefully - iron them out :)

 

There is a legend on Fest. A fairytale. A story told all over the planet. Either in words or in song.

The story of the son of the moon, the _hijo de la luna_.

It’s the tale of a woman, desperate for a man to love her. So she pleads with the moon to send her a man, feisty and passionate and with hair as dark as the night. The moon, also desperate for someone to love, complies. On one condition: the moon wants the woman’s first born in return. And the woman agrees.

She gets her man and he loves her and they’re happy and she bears a child, a son. Pale and white with gray eyes. The son of the moon. The man gets angry for it’s obvious that it’s not his child. And in his anger he strikes her dead. The child he carries into the dark night where he leaves it all on its own.

And henceforth the moon takes care of the boy the best way she can. When he is sad, she forms a crescent shape to sway him to sleep. And at full moon, under her bright light, the boy is happy, but whenever the time of the new moon arises he cries bitter tears as long as her light is gone from the sky.

 

Parents tell that story to their children as a bedtime story, teach them the consequences of being selfish. But also to soothe them. For they also tell them that if they’re sad or can’t sleep they should look up at the moon. The moon would always look out for them.

Mothers and grandmothers tell it to their daughters when they start taking interest in men, to remind them that love is important, yes, but it should never come at the expense of an innocent child. Neither their happiness, nor their lives.

Fathers and grandfathers tell it to their sons on the night before their wedding, to implore them that they should never act rashly in an argument. That they should always listen to reason, and that a child should never be punished for the errors of its parents.

Lovers tell it to each other at night under the light of the moon and they pity the moon for it is all alone.

Old people tell it to each other to remind themselves of the friend of a friend of a friend who’s sure they’ve met said child once. A child so cherished and yet lonely, so loved and yet desperate for someone to hold it in one’s arms. And they cry for the little boy.

 

Of course it’s all just a story. A legend. Something made up to teach people a lesson.

 

But Cassian Andor knows that it’s more than that.

He knows it to be true. More or less. There’s always something that’s exaggerated, something that’s added to the story in certain parts of the planet and left out in others, but in the end, the core of the story is for real.

He doesn’t know how it’s possible. How it works. Only, that it does.

He doesn’t know if it’s the moon who made the child or if it’s the Force or some other kind of mystical energy that he’d love to call nonsense if only he could.

For it is him.

Cassian Andor is theson of the moon. The  _h_ _ijo de la luna_.

At least that’s what his parents had told him.

 

***

 

He doesn’t remember that first year of his life and he certainly doesn’t know if it happened like the story told. If his mother had traded him for a lover who killed her in the end. If his father had left him out in the open for the moon to care for him.

But he knows what his parents have told him. His _real_ parents. The one’s who were there for him when he needed them. He knows all about that night his father found a child at the foot of the mountains. All alone, naked and white as the snow around it with eyes as silvery gray as the stars. Crying bitterly, but otherwise well and healthy.

No child should’ve been able to survive something like that. Certainly not in the endless ice and snow of Fest. No matter if it spent a year outside or an hour.

And yet he is still here to prove the impossible.

They took him in and raised him as their own. They never cared for him being different, only that he needed someone.

They never lied to him about his heritage. About what they _thought_ his true heritage was.

And where the adult Cassian has his doubts, the child had believed without question.

He still remembers the nights he spent at the window, looking out at the moon in the sky. He remembers the joy and warmth he felt whenever the full moon was up and the loneliness at new moon nights. He remembers talking to her, the moon, telling her of his day. And he remembers the distant feeling of being swayed gently under a crescent moon and sometimes he even thinks he remembers music. A soft humming, more a feeling underneath your skin than an actual sound.

A long time ago there has been a picture of him, of all three of them, shortly after his parents had taken him in. A white child in the arms of a happy couple.

If he hadn’t seen that picture with his own eyes he wouldn’t believe it.

They told him that he loved the night more than the day. And that he started changing as he adapted to their kind of life, as he slept during the night and was awake during the day, as he spent less and less time in the moonlight. His skin got darker and his hair turned black. Even his eyes changed color.

His parents had never wanted him to change because of them, but they couldn’t give him what he needed either. Not with the war at their doorsteps.

In some ways he’s glad about it.

At least it allows him to blend in, to seemingly fit into this world that doesn’t feel like it’s his. He looks just like everybody else. Apart from that crescent moon shaped spot on the inside of his right wrist where his skin is just as white as it had been the day he’d been born.

He keeps it hidden underneath a wrist band. Because, if he’s honest with himself, which he rarely is, then he _knows_ the truth. Can feel it weighing heavy in his heart.

 

***

 

In the legend the child is all alone. Lonely. Starving for someone to touch it, to caress it. To hold it close and soothe its fears. Something the moon just can’t do from up there in the sky. People say it’s selfish of the moon to want a child without being able to care for it. Without being able to give him the most basic things it needs.

But is it? Is it selfish to want someone to love?

 

Cassian wouldn’t know.

Love isn’t exactly a part of his life. He sees it all around but it seems, no matter what, he can never be a part of it.

At least not for long.

As a boy, he’d loved the moon. He still does, no matter which moon he’s looking at. They’re different, in shape and color and size and location, and yet they aren’t. They’re all _her._ And watching the moon, bathing in its light... it fills him with peace, but also with a longing so desperate and aching and so intangible that he can’t stand it for long.

He also loves his parents, those that held him and cherished him and laughed with him and chased his nightmares away. But life took them away from him all too soon. And threw him into the middle of a war that couldn’t be ignored.

He’d loved the rebellion once. At the beginning, when he’d thought he could make a difference. When he’d seen nothing but the noble cause and the fiery determination to do something good, something right. He’d learned soon enough that the truth wasn’t as noble. That a lot of things that needed to be done were ugly. Now all he has left is the cause itself and that determination to do _something_. The love had died along the way, somewhere behind a sniper rifle.

So no, he wouldn’t know how it feels to _want_ someone to love. Wouldn’t know how that could ever be selfish, for in his experience, if you have something or someone that you love, it only gets ripped away from you, or tainted, or it fills you with a longing too great to bear.

Even during the time you’re able to hold on to it, there’s still something missing. Always something missing.

And wanting _that_ isn’t selfish, it’s self-mortification.

 

So instead he goes on with his life. Fighting for the rebellion. It takes him to all kinds of places. Nice ones and horrible ones. And he learns that the legend of his homeworld has spread out to many other planets, maybe recently, maybe a very long time ago already, he doesn’t know. But it’s there and greets him on Ryloth, on Dantooine, on Alderaan.

It’s there, just like that longing at the back of his mind. Always there, never tangible, but mostly easy to ignore – as long as he keeps busy – unless he’s watching the moon.

He pretends to not take notice of it and goes on, takes on mission after mission, always on the move, always alone even when he isn’t. He’s part of the people all around him, one of them, on the outside, but on the inside he just knows that he’s different. He can feel it in his bones, in the tingling of his skin whenever the moonlight touches it.

 

***

 

It’s then, out there in the vastness of the universe, that he hears another story. He always thought he knows where the legend of the _hijo de la luna_ ended, but now he hears a new part to the same legend, a part he’d never heard before.

A part about an _hijo del sol_. A son of the sun. And his heart clenches at the words spoken in the language of his home, a language he hasn’t heard in years.

Obviously legends say that the sun witnessed the moon’s selfish act. But instead of condemning her for it, the sun looked closer and saw the moon’s heartbreak. Her loneliness and the unconditional and endless love she felt for this child, the desperation with which she cared for it the best way she could, crying tears of devastation of not being able to do more, of having condemned this child to a life of isolation, just as lonely as her own.

And the sun couldn’t take it for he loved the moon dearly and it pained him that he couldn’t be closer to her, but he promised to himself that he would do everything to soothe her aching heart. By soothing the heart of her child.

So he created a child of his own and gave it to a human couple, willing to care for it. A child with golden skin and fire in his eyes. A child so warm and lively and full of love and compassion that it seemed to glow with it.

A child, just as special as the other.

A child, able to thaw the loneliness away and soothe the restlessness and the aching heart of the other boy.

 

It’s ridiculous, of course, and yet Cassian couldn’t help the hopeful twinge of his heart.

 

The story sticks with him. No matter how much he tries to forget it, how much he pushes it away and banishes it from his mind, it always comes back, in the quiet, lonely moments before sleep takes him, torturing him with a whole bunch of ‘what if’s.

_Can it be true?_

_Is it really possible that there’s someone like him out there?_

_But where is he? And why didn’t the sun place that child near him so they have a chance at finding each other?_

_Are they even the same age?_

_What parts of the stories are true and which ones additions by countless retellings?_

_Does that other boy feel that same ache, that same longing when he feels the light of the sun on his skin?_

_Could he love someone like that? Is he_ supposed _to? Does he have a_ choice _?_

_And… assuming he has and he can… could someone warm and lively and compassionate love someone like him?_

 

There are no answers to those questions.

But he finds himself outside one night, perched on the roof of the barracks of their current base, basking in the light of a full moon. And the aching, the longing, it’s stronger than ever. And he thinks he can understand now. Why the moon did what she did.

“Is it true?” he asks into the sky.

He gets no answer. Not really.

And yet he does.

For the first time in many, many years he hears it again, that gentle hum, more vibration than sound, enveloping him like a lullaby. And he’s not sure if that’s a “yes, of course, my boy” or a “I’m so sorry, but no”.

He can’t take it. Not the answer that he can’t decipher nor the comfort from a bygone time that only makes him crave for more. Tears fall from his eyes. When had been the last time he’d cried? He can’t remember. And he looks up, feels the distant warmth of the moonlight on his skin that no one else is able to feel and he wants to get rid of his clothes to feel it everywhere, to huddle in that warmth, that comfort for it’s all he could get, but he doesn’t.

Instead he goes back inside, curls up in his bed, new tears staining his cheeks.

He feels more alone than ever before.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there's no Bodhi so far, but he WILL be in the second part of this story. Promise!


	2. Chapter 2

 

He doesn’t find this “son of the sun”. How should he? The universe is a big place. And most likely he isn’t even real. Nothing but a story. Invented by the people who felt pity for the lonely child of the moon.

Maybe.

He finds something else instead. An Imperial droid that he manages to re-program.

Sometimes he wonders if that makes him just as selfish as the moon? For he might not have made himself someone to love, but- well- in some ways he _had_ done just that.

Yes, he loves that sassy droid. Not like a child and also not like a lover, but as an equal. A friend. Someone who is just as different as he is, who cares about him and who he cares about.

Kaytoo isn’t deceiving like the cause. No hidden ugliness behind a shiny facade of nobleness. Kaytoo is the epitome of honesty and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The droid is sturdy, capable of taking care of itself and Cassian doesn’t have to fear so much that one day his friend would just be ripped away from him. But he’ not willing to leave that to chance either: he always keeps a backup of Kaytoo’s programming. Just in case.

True, they argue a lot, but most of it is easy banter, nothing but friendly teasing. And the warmth that fills his chest when they do just that or when Kaytoo puts a hand on his shoulder as a show of solidarity or that one time Kaytoo had carried his heavily bleeding body out of enemy’s territory after a mission gone wrong, that warmth is true. And welcome. _N_ _eeded_. But most of all, it isn’t tied to the crushing loneliness and the horrible, sweet ache of the moonlight’s warm rays.

And for a while that is enough.

Enough to keep the longing at bay, keep it hidden, buried beneath responsibility and duty and this new friendship.

But it never leaves. It refuses to be forgotten. It lingers, in the shadows.

Cassian can live with that. He has to. Has always had to.

If the years have taught him anything, then how to ignore it.

And so he does.

Just as he ignores the stories, still mumbled here and there, told by all kinds of people to distract themselves from the oppression, from the fighting. To remind themselves of what’s important and what not to lose. And to hold up their hope. For as long as there is hope for the lonely child of the moon there is also hope for them.

 

***

 

“Rebellions are built on hope.”

He’s on his next mission. Verifying the rumors that he barely dares thinking about. Searching for an Imperial defector with the help of a girl that has been forced to grow up too soon, too fast.

He says the words to her to get his message home, but the words sound hollow and feel like ash on his tongue.

 

***

 

“There is more than one sort of prison, Captain, and I sense that you carry yours wherever you go.”

The words echo in his mind. Like an accusation. A threat. A reminder.

He refuses to think about them and opts to ignore the monk and works on getting out of their cell instead.

He doesn’t like this planet. Even before his mission went downhill and turned into barely controlled chaos. Something about this planet makes his skin crawl and his breath quicken. He can’t pin it down, really, especially since upon their arrival it had felt almost like coming home. Which makes just as much sense as his unease now.

That’s when even the barely controlled chaos of this mission loses all cohesion and tumbles into utter bedlam.

The defector turns up out of the blue, a stuttering mess with eyes so big and confused and alone and _lost_ that it nudges something deep inside of him. He can connect to that look in certain ways, can feel how it touches parts of him that he’d thought closed off for good.

Then the earth shakes beneath them, vibrating and thrumming with _wrongness_.

It’s time to run. He can feel it.

And they do. The two guardians run with the defector and he runs for the girl before they meet again and run for their lives.

The explosion – the sheer amount of destruction – is unfathomable and yet he’s looking right at it. Shooting up into the atmosphere. Shaking the whole planet.

His skin crawls more than ever.

There’s the defector, the pilot. Pausing. _Staring_.

Cassian claps his hand on his shoulder to urge him to move, to _run for his_ _kriffin’_ _life, dammit_. A jolt of _something_ shoots up his arm, running along his nerves like a current of heat, a sudden power surge, prickling and foreign and unexpected and-

The pilot jumps, flinches away from his touch and finally runs.

Something draws Cassian’s gaze as he dashes off. It’s the solar eclipse in the sky. He only spots it for a second, a bright, burning ring of heat and light, around the shadow of the moon, then the wall of destruction obstructs his view as it rolls closer and closer.

 

***

 

It takes him until their way back to Yavin 4 that he finally realizes that Jedha has no moon. Jedha _is_ a moon. Which explains why he felt safe at first, so close to the moon itself. It also explains his growing unease, because he’d been _too_ close for too long, so close he couldn’t see her face. Feeling her, but not _seeing_ her had slowly, but surely freaked him out on a subconscious level, like spending the afternoon with someone close to you, but only ever being able to see the back of their head. Even in hindsight it makes him suppress a shudder.

But if Jedha itself is a moon, then that thing blocking the sun…

It must have been the weapon!

He shudders for real this time. And he’s not sure if it’s because of the sheer scale of it or because of his own incomprehension how someone could even begin to think about building something so monstrous.

It doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is that that thing gets destroyed. No matter how.

 

Barely a day later they’re in the shuttle again, hopefully laying the foundation to do just that by getting the plans so they could find and exploit the Death Star’s weakness.

He doesn’t dare thinking about the possibility that Galen Erso could’ve been lying.

This is their only chance.

Cassian knows that it’s a suicide mission. He’d always known that he’d die like this, serving the rebellion – although he hadn’t thought he would do so by defying orders. Still, he’d only ever known the fight. The cause. And he’s got nothing to lose after all.

He wonders if the others feel the same way. If they’re aware of their odds.

He climbs into the cockpit. They’d soon reach the planet and he wants to be there when they do. The pilot – Bodhi as he’d learned – turns around at the sound of boots on the ladder and as he spots him he smiles. A bit insecure and frayed around the edges, but a smile nonetheless.

Bodhi remains a mystery to him.

The man had been tortured by Gerrera – Cassian doesn’t know the specifics but he’s seen that look often enough to _know_ – had watched his home being destroyed – he’d learned that little detail by listening in on a conversation between the guardians and the pilot – and yet he’d powered right through it. He’d never complained, had never asked for anything. No, instead he’d opted to fight.

All of that’s impressive enough in and off itself, but those are things Cassian can understand. What puzzles him is that the man still has a smile on his lips. Still easy. Still open.

“You ready for this?”

Bodhi nods. Quick and sure. “Yes.”

And Cassian can see that he’s telling the truth. There’s no doubting the other’s determination, not with that burning fire raging behind his big, dark eyes. Not with the quiet strength in his posture, in his every movement. It’s strangely contagious.

The smile is back and it transform the pilot’s face into something so bright and pure it shouldn’t be here, not on this ship, not on this mission.

“I’m not gonna lie. I’ve never done anything like this and I’m scared shitless. But I am right where I’m supposed to be. Where I _want_ to be. So, yeah, I’m ready.”

Cassian can’t help himself, he stares, completely in awe now. Those words, so open and honest... and he wonders how this man had managed to survive within the Empire, how his _spirit_ had managed to survive. And it pains him that this day will be his last.

It’s not fair.

But when has the universe ever been fair.

“Good to know,” he finally answers and to his own surprise he feels a small smile tugging at his lips. He takes it as it is and claps his hand onto the other’s shoulder to squeeze it once in reassurance.

Only when there’s no jolt up his arm does he remember the strange sensation the first time he’d touched the pilot.

There might be no jolt, no electricity this time but there’s still something. The shoulder beneath his hand is incredibly warm. Not the feverish, unhealthy kind of warmth, but just… _warm_ in a way he cannot describe.

His fingertips tingle as he pulls his hand away. And he longs to put it back again. To feel that warmth again. Which is ridiculous. Right?

Bodhi is staring at him now. A slight frown on his face. Has he felt something, too?

Cassian will never know, for at right that moment Kaytoo anounces their arrival and all of their attention snaps to the planet right in front of them. And the Imperial installation above it.

 

***

 

He blinks his eyes open. Which in and of itself is strange, because he’d been sure to never open his eyes ever again.

But here he is, blinking sluggishly against the too bright light. The white ceiling plates above him are blurry but he recognizes them nevertheless. He’s in the medbay. The rebel base’ medbay.

Which is impossible.

His head is swimming, his mind dulled down with the familiar fogginess of painkillers. His memories are there, nothing but fuzzy splotches in the fog of his mind. He can focus on one of them, if he concentrates, but never on more than one at a time.

_A blaster in his hand and a man in a white cape in front of him._

_A faint noise in front of the all consuming destruction. Jyn shouting._

_Leaning heavily against a wall to keep upright. Jyn next to him, smiling. Exhaustion is weighing so damn heavy on him and all he can think about is a warm smile and big, dark eyes. Is their pilot still alive?_

_A beach. The sand rough beneath his fingers. Holding onto Jyn._

_Pain. So much pain. He can’t breathe. His fingers curled into the metal grate beneath him._

_Leaning harder against Jyn. She’s there, with him. He’s not alone. And yet he is._ He is _._

_The Death Star in the sky. Like a moon. Only it isn’t. He should know._

_Someone pulling at him. Hard. Merciless. There’s an anguished, breathless scream of pain. It’s pitiful. And pathetic._

_Wishing for the real moon, for it’s comfort. It’s soft humming._

_Metal beneath him. Rumbling. Swaying. A ship. A hand in his hair, small, soothing, stroking. Mother?_

He can remember that, but it’s just that, individual dots that just wouldn’t fit together. They make no sense. Have no order. Make him dizzy.

And he closes his eyes again. His skin is tingling and he’s wondering if he’s lying beneath a window. In the moonlight. He should’ve checked. Should’ve looked up and reassured her that he’s still there. But his eyelids are heavy. So heavy.

The darkness pulls him under again. Gently, like an old friend.

 

***

 

Next time he wakes up to soft humming.

It takes a moment for him to realize that it’s not the humming he’s used to, vibrating beneath his skin more than actual sound, but actual, _real_ humming. He knows the song. How could he not? It’s the song to the legend that is his life.

_Luna quieres ser madre_

_y no encuentras querer_

_que te haga mujer._

_Dime luna de plata,_

_¿Qué pretendes hacer_

_con un niño de piel?_

He’s heard it so many times. Can’t stand that song, not when it is reminder and accusation at once. But the humming is so nice, it means someone is close and cares and he can’t fathom who that should be, so it has to be his mind playing tricks on him and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling of not being alone, so he keeps his eyes closed.

He can remember clearly now what had happened. They’d been on the beach and their ship had appeared out of nowhere. Jyn had urged him to move but his body hadn’t listened anymore and someone, he thought it might’ve been Baze, had pulled him forcefully into the ship before they’d sped off.

Did the others make it? Who else is still alive?

Maybe he should open his eyes after all.

But the humming is so nice. And the warmth around his right hand and-

Wait!

Someone is holding his hand. How had he not noticed earlier? Warm fingers are loosely closed around his, a thumb rubbing soothingly across the back of his hand, always in rhythm with the gentle melody.

He isn’t alone.

Kaytoo?

No, he discards that idea just as quick as it had come. Kaytoo wouldn’t hum. Kaytoo is dead. And the hand around his is warm and soft and rough and _human_.

But who…?

His eyes blink open before he even actively considers it. It’s easier this time and the room isn’t blurry anymore. It’s nighttime and only a soft yellow light fills the room. And Bodhi Rook sits in a chair by his bedside.

His heart stutters for a second, unable to comprehend, unable to make sense of this. Of Bodhi caring, of their joined hands, of the humming, of the song, of the _rightness_ of it all. Of Bodhi being _alive_.

“Hey, you’re awake!” The humming stops, gets replaced by a brilliant smile, bright as the sun and just as warm.

“You’re alive!” His voice is rough from disuse.

He makes no move to pull his hand back, just as Bodhi makes no move to let him go.

“Maybe a bit worse for wear, but yes, I’m alive. And so are Jyn and Baze and Chirrut. Tonc and Deezer as well. I couldn’t save anyone else. I’m sorry.” Cassian nods, too stunned to learn that _anyone_ has survived at all. Because of Bodhi. Bodhi had flown the shuttle. He’d saved them, before- “Jyn told me… I- I’m sorry about Kaytoo.”

Cassian blinks to focus back on the pilot in front of him. He’s wearing an ill-fitting assortment of civilian clothes and his goggles are missing. It’s strange to see him without them, or without his Imperial flight-suit. It’s even stranger to see the compassion on his face. To see someone he only knew for maybe two days caring so much for him losing a friend. A _droid_.

“It’s okay.” He smiles, wants that touch of sadness gone from those dark eyes for reasons he’s unwilling to delve into right now. “I always keep a backup. Just in case...”

And those eyes light up again and that shouldn’t affect him this much, right?

He closes his eyes for a moment, simply taking everything in. His body is heavy on the mattress, there’s a dull pressure around his chest and his right leg and hip are strangely numb, but there’s no pain.

That’s good.

Good.

Neither of them says anything and the silence stretches on. It’s not uncomfortable, which surprises him.

Bodhi’s hand is still holding his, which surprises him even more.

He blinks his eyes open again and looks at the pilot, _really_ looks at him this time. He’s paler than he should be and his hair needs washing. There’re bandages around his left arm and hand and others peeking out beneath his shirt at his neck. But his smile is the same and his eyes are still so full of fire. Not the blazing kind anymore, but the quiet flame that flickered softly in the air, shining a warm light on its surroundings as it spreads its gentle warmth.

It takes a moment before he notices that Bodhi is staring right back at him, scrutinizing him just as intently.

And the thumb on his hand stops its caresses all of a sudden.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

Cassian has no idea what he’s talking about. That’s what he’s telling himself at least. But Bodhi doesn’t wait for an answer anyway.

“I felt it, when you pulled me along on Jedha. I could see it in your eyes up on that ledge on Eadu. I- I wasn’t sure, though. Ever since- since Gerrera and his- I’m never all that sure about anything anymore, but- I knew there was _something_. And then I came in here and saw this.”

He feels his hand being turned around until his palm is facing upwards. His heartbeat is too fast all of a sudden and his breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t _look_ away. He holds Bodhi’s gaze or Bodhi holds his, he’s not sure and he doesn’t care and _is this for real? Is he dreaming? Hallucinating?_

It prickles as the warm fingertip traces the white shape on the inside of his wrist. He gasps. Can’t help it.

And Bodhi smiles. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Only this time it doesn’t sound like a question. There’s wonder in his eyes, though.

“What…?” he croaks. It’s crude and not eloquent at all, but he’s at a loss for words. Can barely think straight, for this isn’t possible, right? Right?

It’s the suppressed hope of years that makes his heart pound like mad and forms a lump in his throat. It’s hope that makes his stomach churn and his thoughts race.

Bodhi lets go of his hand and pulls his own up instead. His shirt is pushed back to his elbow, revealing the beautiful brown of his skin and some dark hairs along his forearm. He twists his arm and Cassian just stares.

There’s a spot on the inside of Bodhi’s wrist. Round and fuzzy around the edges and shimmering golden, just like the sun.

“Impossible!” It’s barely a whisper. His chest is heaving and breathing is starting to hurt, but Cassian doesn’t care. Not right now.

Bodhi simply chuckles and wiggles an eyebrow at him, all cheeky and _so damn alive._ “Just a bit unlikely maybe.”

And he lifts Cassian’s hand and takes it in his again, entwines their fingers until their wrists are pressed together. White moon against golden sun.

It’s like an electric current running through his body. Only without the pain.

And Cassian feels tears prickling in his eyes and he laughs. Or cries. Or both.

He simply closes his fingers more tightly and Bodhi does the same.

 

***

 

“Get some sleep.”

Soft fingertips trace along his brow and brush his hair out of his face. Cassian’s eyes fall shut on their own accord at the gentle caress. He’s tired. So very very tired. Too much has happened in the short time since he’s woken up. Too much to comprehend. It still feels like a dream.

Bodhi had called a doctor as soon as he’d realized that Cassian was in pain. And now a new surge of painkillers roams his system. It makes thinking even harder than before.

The fingers linger above his ear for a moment, then they leave.

His eyes shoot open at once. Blinking. Searching. And settling on Bodhi.

A sigh escapes his lips.

“ _Sleep_ , Cassian.”

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” He feels stupid asking this, but he has to. It’s far more likely that nothing of this is real, that-

An impossibly warm hand closes around his again and squeezes softly. “I will. Promise!”

Cassian believes him.

“Can you turn off the light?” he asks, mumbling, as his eyes droop. This time, he knows, he won’t be able to open them again. They’re too heavy.

“Sure.”

There’s a soft click and the dim light is gone. Replaced by semi-darkness and bluish-white moonlight spilling in through the window. Cassian can’t see it, but he can feel it on his hands and face. Can feel the subtle warmth it always brings. Its soothing quality. And there’s the soft, humming vibration, lulling him into sleep. Like it had as he’d been a boy.

Only one thing is missing.

The painful longing never comes this time.

And he falls asleep, bathed in the light of his past and enveloped by the warmth of a possible future.

 

***

 

There is a legend known throughout the universe. A fairytale. A story told in every part of the galaxy.

The story of the son the moon, the _hijo de la luna_.

And the story of the son of the sun, the _hijo del sol_.

Parents tell it to their children as a bedtime story, teach them about the importance of helping others instead of condemning them for their mistakes. But also to soothe them. They tell them that no matter how alone or how different they feel there’s always someone out there who’d love them.

Mothers and grandmothers tell it to their daughters when they start taking interest in men, to remind them that true love doesn’t come at a price. True love _gives_. It gives you hope when you’re desperate. It gives you warmth when you need it. And it sends you a ray of sunshine when the night is darkest.

Fathers and grandfathers tell it to their sons on the night before their wedding, to implore them that a child should never be punished for the errors of its parents. That you should love each child like your own, even if it isn’t, for each child is special and will one day be the most important person for someone else.

Lovers tell it to each other at night under the light of the moon and they’ll look up and wonder if it makes the moon happy that her child isn’t alone anymore. They tell it to each other by day under the light of the sun and they’ll look up and wonder if one day the sun and the moon might find a way to be together.

Old people tell it to each other to remind themselves of the friend of a friend of a friend who met those children once. One child, beautiful and secretive and cool like the moonlight, the other one bright and warm and so full of life like the sun itself. Two children who came from desperation, different and separate from the ones who loved them most. Two children who found each other, who shared a love like no other. And they cry with joy for those two boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songtext is a part of the song "Hijo de la luna" by Loona.
> 
> I've never had fanart made to any of my stories, until now. Thanks to the lovely Mail_Jeevas_Keehl! Thank you so much!  
> You'll find it [here](https://i.imgur.com/TlWLTpa.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it?  
> Feel free to share your thoughts!


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